Verity
by the upward glance
Summary: A Thiefshipping oneshot. A more detailed attempt at fiction, though, I'm still learning.


The sun was comfortably situated in the sky, which was blushing ever so slightly. '4:30? Sounds about right...', thought Marik. A delicious breeze caressed his pale blonde hair, his tanned skin. He decided to sit for a while on a rather quaint, if neglected, wooden bench in the park near his apartment. Slowly drinking in this flawless halcyon, Malik was able to calm his racing mind and troubling thoughts. He had ventured into the park with the hope that a long walk might give him some perspective, so that he could finally reach some decision in order to repair his crumbling emotional state. It hadn't. As a heavy sigh evacuated his little mouth, Malik rose from the bench to return home. "'Home', huh. Hardly." Despite his affection—no it was deeper than that. Despite his love for Bakura, that apartment the two shared never did seem like a home. It wasn't quite a prison...but that word was the closest approximation to the nature of the dwelling Marik could designate. Warden Bakura, observing every turn of his shoulder, every movement of his lovely lavender eyes, which nowadays seemed tear-heavy and red. The club that the pale dominator wielded was consideration. Marik was beaten and bruised by it. Or not. Both equally extracting the same level of pain. Irony stained the non-existent bars of his jail like rust. Free to leave? Of course. But, to where would he go? The young Egyptian had no other haven. Odion and Ishizu had returned to Egypt while Marik had elected to remain with his love. Moving back was impossible financially...emotionally. Their friends...tolerated him. He could see through the fake smiles, the forced laughs. He was the wounded pup no family would ever openly welcome, yet could not entirely turn away. Cute, yes. But showed too many signs of the streets. Once again, he slid that dull bronze key into that dull bronze lock, turned it, and entered.

"Fuck! Why does he always keep it so damn cold in here?", Marik mused aloud. The apartment was uniformly dark. "Bakura must be out doing God-knows-what." 'Probably out with that eternally lovable hikari of his. Hm. Ryou. Doe-eyed and porcelain-skinned, with the purest of hearts,' thought Marik as he took a seat in the living room, neglecting to turn on the lights. That was one of the causes of this distance. Those two would forever share a bond Marik could never approach. It wasn't jealousy...for he had always liked Ryou in a way. There was something to be said about those who never failed to sport a kind and sincere smile, whose souls were utterly devoid of malice. Yet...he so desperately wanted to hold a place in Bakura's admittedly twisted heart. He loved his crooked grin, sadistic humor, his form, his immaculate face, his flowing white hair. Though no longer consumed by anger, Marik still felt broken. He would always be broken. Bakura didn't care. He still thought Marik was beautiful; he knew it. It was in Bakura's touch, admiringly lusting, and in his eyes that burned with prideful ownership. But...could he say Bakura loved him? Cold, cruel, and distant? Yes. Yet, in their most intimate moments there was passion and pleasure. Mustn't love be present to raise that act to such a level? Bakura was Marik's one and only lover. He had no basis to judge with certainty. 'He still wants me though …he would never permit me to share his bed if I weren't important to him...maybe I can't be loved...maybe I'm too shattered...' Tears clung tentatively to delicate eye lids. A face of such beauty and grace should not know of such hurt. It was an injustice. Doubt shouldn't be the trait to characterize a relationship. 'I have to know...today...I must have the truth.'

Marik heard the lock turn and immediately stifled all doubt. He would have to face Bakura with all his resolve, all his strength. One does not fight for love with an unsharpened sword. Bakura flicked the lightswitch and gasped. Though usually unflappable, he had not expected his lover to be lurking in the corner.

"Jesus Marik! This is a bit too 'Fatal Attraction' for my taste, but I appreciate the effort. What are you doing brooding in the dark?"

"Hi 'Kura.," Marik managed a meager smile. "Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking actually, and um—"

"Yes?"

"I have to ask you something I've been struggling with for a while now..."

"Mhmm.," Bakura maintained a calm demeanor though he was frustrated with Marik's emotional state.

"What is the nature of the emotion with which you regard me?"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what?' Do you love me? Do you hate me? Are you indifferent to me? Am I just a good fuck so you can wake up smiling the next morning?"

"You're being ridiculous, Marik," Bakura couldn't resist an eyebrow arch and an eye roll.

"No I'm not Bakura. I'm being ruthlessly honest. Please give me some respect. I think I've earned it."

"Fine. Yes. I'm sorry. Go on."

"Thank you," Marik took a moment to compose himself, and the resulting silence hung heavily in the air. He was finding it harder to breathe. "I don't know where I stand with you Bakura, and it's killing me. I've...taken care of you when you've come home drunk, I've tried to console you when the world has been too much, I endure your ignoring me for no reason, I've weathered your...abuse—"

"Is this going to continue as a docket of the injustice I've inflicted upon poor, defenseless you, or is there a point?"

"No! That's not my intention...When you beat me, I don' complain. I don't scream. I don't cry. I know you're angry. I'm that which is close. I know you...enjoy it. I guess a part of me does too. But, you see? I'm desperate. I'm so fucking desperate that I welcome your fists, your hurling of me against the wall! Bruises, kisses...I take it all. Happily. Because your abuse means I exist to you. I know I'm _something_! It shouldn't be that way..." Marik had been shaking furiously, and had to stop. He hadn't expected to unravel so quickly. "I've never betrayed you. I _love_ you!" Bakura made the slightest frown, but Marik noticed, "And I know that you hate when I say that, but it's true! So...I think you owe me the truth, Bakura. God knows I should have asked sooner...but I've reached my limit. I guess I'm not the perfect masochist after all. Uncertainty weighs too heavily upon my heart..." Marik turned his bleary eyes expectantly toward Bakura.

The pale youth considered his lover's plea. He didn't want to have his hand forced, but Marik made a valid point. "Are you sure that's what you want?", Bakura had walked up to Marik and clutched his shoulders.

"I'd rather suffer truth, than enjoy a lie. Please 'Kura...do you love me?" Fearless lavender faced indomitable sienna. No dominance. No submission. For once, equilibrium.

"No."

Marik knew it was 50/50. He was pretty sure his chances weren't even that good. But, he had hoped. He had hoped. Maybe that was his mistake all along.

"Why? Why would you keep this up, if you never loved me?"

Bakura had released Marik, and stood facing him. "I thought you could handle it. I thought you knew I could only love one person."

"Ryou."

"Yes."

"That was a dangerous game to play, Bakura."

"I suppose so."

Marik's hands clung to his jeans. His shirt was now stained with sweat from his sincere effort. "Do you feel any remorse?"

Bakura enclosed his hands around those of the gorgeous Egyptian, and gave him a chaste kiss. Perhaps the one kind act he ever committed. "I'm sorry, I cannot be responsible for your heart."

Marik couldn't endure those merciless eyes any longer and his gaze fell to the floor, his strength spent. Releasing his most beloved's hands, he made his way to the door. With a sad smile, he turned to face Bakura one last time, "I'll never forget you."

Returning the smile with the closest he ever felt to compassion, Bakura said, "Nor I, you."

Marik wandered the city streets without the slightest concept as where he would go. He didn't care. He had lost his one reason to live. But, he was proud. He felt, finally, an aura of peace envelop him.

He won his truth.


End file.
